The Falcon and The Songbird
by macmillanluv
Summary: Sam Wilson walks into a restaurant and meets a woman. She sings. He's intrigued. Fluff. Sam/OC.
1. Intro

**A/N** : This is a little spin-off of my other story, Bucky and Pearl, but you don't need to read that to get this. In this, Sam Wilson walks into a restaurant and meets a woman. This is probably going to be four short chapters.

The title is cheesier than a serving platter at a cheese tasting, but I got it in my head and I couldn't get over it, so that's that.

 **Intro**

Sam Wilson is sure there are better ways to spend Wednesday night, than roaming around Brooklyn, looking for a formerly psycho assassin and hoping he happens to be in a good mood, but he's promised Steve not to stop until he's scanned every square foot, trying to find his long lost best friend. So far, he's got nothing except two days worth of footage from the cameras he set up near abandoned buildings and the testimony of a homeless guy, who swears he saw Bucky flying off in a hot air balloon, and the whole endeavour is seeming more and more pointless by the second, but there he is, walking down yet another street that looks exactly like the other five hundred and contains no trace of the mysterious Bucky Barnes.

Rain starts pouring heavily from the sky. Sam swears under his breath and retreats to stand under the awning of what seems to be a bakery and wait it out. He checks his email and sends another status update to Steve, because he wants to be up to date and because Sam enjoys sending blank, useless reports where nothing ever happens, as a way of silently rebelling against Steve's old-school method for finding somebody. They have the cameras, too, and nifty facial-recognisition software scanning around the world, but according to Steve, this is the way to go.

The rain doesn't seem to let up, so Sam looks down the street and spots what seems to be a restaurant. He lifts his Army jacket over his head and runs through the rain. As he opens the heavy, mahogany door, he discovers a small, dimly lit restaurant with small round tables covered in crispy white tablecloths. Heavy red velvet curtains hang around the windows and dark cherry paneling runs across the walls. In the corner, a small dance floor is topped off with an even smaller stage with a live band playing jazz.

The place is packed with couples enjoying a candle-lit meal, so Sam heads for the bar, where he orders a beer. The bartender slides over his drink and places a bowl of peanuts in front of him.

"Thanks, man."

The bartender nods over towards the stage. "Did you come to see the band?"

"The band? No, I just wanted to get out of the rain," Sam says, slightly confused as he looks over his shoulder.

The band, though technically really good, seems just like any other band at any other restaurant, playing the same easy-listening songs they all do, the kind of music that's nice, mellow, but yet, doesn't draw much attention, and Sam wonders if there's something he's not getting.

He digs in his pocket to find his phone. Steve hasn't replied to his email and Sam is just about to call him, mostly just to let him know there's no point in searching in this weather and also to try and convince him to just let the technology work its magic.

Sam's thought process is interrupted as the people around him at the bar begin turning around in their seats, nudging each others arms and just generally focusing their attention towards the stage. The band is playing softly. Sam turns around in his seat to see a young woman walking up the little steps that lead onto the stage. She's wearing a blue halter dress that shows off her shoulders. Her skin is like caramel, the kind that goes on top of an ice cream sundae, and her hair is long and black. It looks like silk running down her back. She's tall, he notices. Taller than the bass player next to her, at least.

She reaches the microphone. A guy next to Sam whistles, making the woman chuckle.

"I haven't even started and already I'm a hit," she says with a smile.

As she starts singing, Sam begins to understand the bartender's question. Her voice sounds kind of like she's been smoking for the past sixty years, which is impossible because she's definitely still in her twenties, but in a beautiful way, without the throat noises and the coughing and the cracking. It's just sort of husky and low and it fills the entire restaurant as she sings something, that sounds like it could have been played at the last dance Steve went to, seventy-something years ago. Sam doesn't recognize the tune. He watches as her full lips wrap around each word, telling a love story from another era, her voice sending shivers down his spine. As a couple reaches the dancefloor, she smiles and gives them a little wink.

As her set progresses, Sam finds himself almost enthralled by her, and he's not the only one. The guy next to him has moved to a table to get closer to the stage, which seems to be annoying the waiters, as it takes him thirty minutes to eat a small basket of garlic bread and he doesn't order anything else, but she doesn't notice him any more than she notices anybody else, as she makes quick eye contact with everyone during her songs, including Sam. He doesn't recognize half of what's she's singing, but whatever it is, her interpretation of it is worth staying for, even though the rain outside has subsided.

People dance. Sam orders another beer. Garlic bread guy keeps ordering more water. The singer finishes another song, this time slightly more contemporary, a request from someone on the dancefloor, and people clap. Garlic bread guy whistles again.

"I'm going to take a quick break now," the singer says. "I'll be back shortly."

She gets off the stage. Sam sees garlic bread guy rushing over and thinks he could possibly be her boyfriend. For some reason, he feels a little disappointed, but quickly brushes it off, because it's no big deal. He turns back towards the bar, picks up his phone from the counter and dials Steve's number. Lifting the phone up to his ear, all he hears is beep after beep. Steve doesn't pick up. Sam shoves the phone in his pocket and rifles through his wallet to leave a tip for the bartender. If he leaves now, he might actually get enough sleep to wake up bright and early tomorrow for another day of searching.

"Hey, Jack, do you know if Mike's coming in tomorrow?"

Sam hears a familiar voice coming from behind him. He turns his head to see the singer walking up to the counter. Garlic bread guy is nowhere in sight.

"I think so, yeah. Why?" The bartender, Jack, replies and pours a glass of water for her.

"I need my paycheck in advance," she says before taking a sip. Sam tries to focus on finding anything besides a fifty-dollar bill in his wallet, but he can't help but look, because she's right there. Her smooth skin looks glowing under the light from the chandeliers hung up from the ceiling. She looks younger from up close than she did up on stage.

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Again?"

The singer playfully pushes Jack's shoulder. She notices Sam looking.

"I'm not a gambler or a compulsive shopper or anything," she says, turning to face him, leaning her slender arm against the counter.

Sam shakes his head. "That's not what I was thinking."

She tilts her head to the side. "No?"

Sam swallows the lump in his throat. Her upturned dark brown eyes are looking at him with expectation as he tries to find the words.

"I was just trying to gather up the courage to tell you, that you have a beautiful voice," he finally says, because saying she's beautiful might be too much, too upfront, especially if that was her boyfriend earlier, but she is. Beautiful.

"Oh. Thank you," she says with a smile. Sam wonders how many hundreds of people she's heard that from before and curses his own unoriginality. One of the band members hollers her over and she gives them a nod before turning back to Sam.

"Tomorrow, I'm doing strictly musical numbers. Grease, Sound of Music, Les Mis, all that. You should come out," she says, lightly touching his shoulder, flashing him another winning smile.

And with that, she's gone. On his way out, Sam shoves his fifty-dollar bill into the tip jar by the stage. The short bass player gives him a thumbs up and a goofy grin, that makes him chuckle.

He really wants to come back tomorrow.


	2. Verse I

**A/N** : Thank you to those of you who have followed or favorited! It's good to see you guys showing Sam some love, too. Sam is awesome.

 **guest:** Yes, Sam definitely deserves a sweet girl. Thank you for leaving a review!

 **Verse I**

Sam knows she probably does this with everyone, the thing with the smiling and the touching of his arm and inviting him back again, because it's good for business to get repeat customers. He knows it's probably something she's been told to do, to use her good looks and charm to keep the customers coming back, and she's probably gotten very good at it, because it didn't feel forced, it was just a fleeting moment, just enough to leave him wanting more.

Sam is a sensible man. He knows this. His whole brain is telling him not to get his hopes up about anything, but his brain is quickly overruled by his heart, as cheesy as it sounds. He doesn't really know what it was, that made him react so strongly. It was just a feeling. Something he can't quite grasp.

It was her voice and the way he felt it all through his body. It was the way she swayed slowly to the tune of the music. It was her lips, her eyes, her gorgeous long limbs, her skin and hair. The warmth in her smile, the fact that she sang almost exclusively love songs, the way it made him feel as she glanced over while singing. She was captivating. Sam keeps telling himself that it was just a great show and that she was just a wonderful performer, who knew what strings to pull to get the highest tips, and while usually, Sam is a good voice of reason not only to himself but other people, too, this is not one of those times.

He has convinced himself to go back. The worst that could happen is getting shot down after enjoying another great set of songs, and he's been rejected before, but as he reaches the right neighborhood, the right street, the right door, he hesitates while already reaching for the handle. He enters the restaurant and decides to go straight to the bar again, feeling less and less confident with every step.

She could be a grifter, for all he knows. Not only has trying to date while being an Avenger proved to be a fruitless attempt, it has, in fact, made him cynical. The only women he meets seem to only be interested in him, because he wears cool gear and saves lives and sometimes whole cities, or because they think there's something to be gained from him. There was that one girl, two months ago, who wanted to feature him on her YouTube channel. She waited until the end of their second date to tell him this, which, in her defense, is a lot longer than most of them manage.

Sam settles down at the bar, wondering whether or not he should just leave straight away. Even if she turns out to be a normal person, who just wants to be nice to everyone, the chances of actually getting her attention long enough to actually try to ask her out, are slim.

All of his hesitation is forgotten, when he sees her peeking through a pair of red velvet curtains, probably concealing a doorway to the backroom, and he remembers what made him come here again. He watches as a waitress brings her a small plate of food and she smiles widely before disappearing again.

"She must've made quite an impression."

Sam turns around to see the same bartender from last night, wiping down drinking glasses with a towel. He smirks, making Sam wonder how many men he's asked that question from. He also wonders if he seems pathetic right now.

"Just get me a beer, man."

The band has been playing soft jazz again, but they change to a more upbeat tempo as the singer, whose name Sam still doesn't know, walks up to the stage. She's wearing the exact outfit worn by Sandy at the end of Grease, with the skin tight black leggings and the top with no shoulders, and her hair is curled. Sam isn't really all that interested in musicals, but Grease used to be his mother's favorite movie. He has probably seen it dozens of times during his life.

Somebody whistles from the bar, making Sam immediately turn to see who it is. Thankfully, it's not garlic bread guy, but a young woman, most likely a friend of the singers, as they both laugh. Sam sips on his beer, trying to decide if he seems like enough of a creep yet, showing up here alone and staring at women. He removes his jacket in an effort to blend in.

After her set, which includes a lot of songs Sam doesn't recognize, she comes over to the bar and walks directly to Sam. She leans her elbow on the counter. Her long hair falls over her shoulder as she tilts her head and flashes him a beautiful smile, her red lips revealing a row of perfectly white teeth.

"You came," she says.

Sam nods. "I did."

"Was it worth it?" she asks.

"Absolutely."

Even if she does turn out to be a grifter or a con artist or just someone doing their job, just hearing her sing makes the trip down worth it, let alone actually talking to her. She's so close he can smell the sweet scent of her perfume. For some reason, it reminds Sam of apple pie.

"If you're going to be showing up more often, I should at least know your name," she says, still looking straight at him.

"Sam."

"Sam," she repeats. "I'm Mae."

Mae. It doesn't make sense, but she looks like a Mae. So far, so good.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Sam asks.

"Well, I drink for free, so..." Mae says, still smiling, but Sam senses she's just trying to be nice and let him down easy. The answer comes so quickly, she's bound to have said it before. Maybe it is just about the tips.

Sam nods. "Right."

He takes a swig of his beer. He wasn't expecting much, so he's not disappointed, at least not very. He's surprised, when she continues the conversation.

"You can buy me a froyo if you want."

"Froyo?" Sam asks.

Mae tilts her head to the side. Her eyes are wide and the smile seems plastered onto her face. "Frozen yogurt? There's a place just down the street."

Sam is familiar with the concept of froyo, he was just wondering why froyo? Is it not just about the tips? She did just eat and they're in a restaurant, so she's probably not trying to get a free meal, if a froyo could count as a meal, anyway. He decides not to ask too many questions.

"Yeah, sure, let's get froyo."


End file.
